


Nothing and No One

by Ryuchu



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 18:32:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11296371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryuchu/pseuds/Ryuchu
Summary: But has anyone told Mishima that he was brave for standing up to Kamoshida?





	Nothing and No One

**Author's Note:**

> There's an NPC called Calm Basketball Player (lovingly shortened to CBP) who talks about how Mishima is brave for standing up to Kamoshida. This is incredibly important and deserved to have a fanfic written about it.

“Today we'll be running some basketball drills, starting with passing-”

And immediately, your brain checks out. Having played basketball since you were a child and being vice-captain of the team, you're sure today's PE class will be as much of a pain as it it a breeze. This teacher enjoys pairing up members of the basketball team with non-athletes – something about promoting group unity or some other bullshit. You usually don't mind, but you can only watch someone fumble the basics of your favorite sport for so long before it begins to frustrate you. There was one time in particular that you snapped at a clumsy underclassman and got an earful.

Besides, there's no way anyone's seriously paying attention to any of this, not with everything that's happened recently.

Your eyes and thoughts shift away from the PE teacher as his explanation continues to drag on unnecessarily long. Only a week and a half ago, you had all been gathered in the gymnasium for an unplanned morning assembly. You all knew it was to talk about the girl who had tried to commit suicide, but of course the teachers weren't going to just come out and say that. Instead, it was some crap about treasuring your youth and making the most of your high school years. You were fully prepared to let it go in one ear and out the other so you could get back to the things you actually cared about.

Then Kamoshida came up on stage, blubbering and begging for forgiveness. In an instant, it became a morning assembly no one would ever forget.

There had always been the rumors that passed freely but discreetly among the sports teams about what was going on with the volleyball team. While the rest of the student body seemed enamored with Kamoshida, you were all too happy to mumble your discontent and suspicions with the rest of your teammates. The sounds you all heard coming from the gym after school on a daily basis; the way he had all but taken over the PE faculty office for his special coaching sessions; the bruises, scratches, and limps that you all saw the volleyball team carrying home at the end of every day – the suspicions on the other sports teams swirled like a vortex.

However, no matter how strong the storm grew, no one dared to act on them. You knew what happened to Sakamoto and the track team, how easy it would be for Kamoshida to pull a repeat performance. Any protests you could make would be written off as either jealousy of the volleyball team's success or typical teenager hysteria blowing everything out of proportion.

So instead, you all remained silent. In the club room you spoke freely, but the minute you left there was an unspoken pact that you were to act as if you knew nothing, saw nothing.

You all turned a blind eye to a problem that seemed to only be escalating day after day.

That's why, as you were preparing for practice one day, you couldn't help but pay attention to the unusual excited energy in the club room that accompanied Kamoshida's name. One of your teammates began babbling with a mix of excitement and trepidation about three students that had stood up against Kamoshida and were likely to be expelled for their troubles.

Sakamoto you had expected. In fact, you were mildly surprised it had taken him this long to pull a dumb ass stunt like this. His bad blood with Kamoshida and how Kamoshida would love the chance to goad Sakamoto into expelling himself was common knowledge.

The transfer student was a bit more surprising. You had thought he was trying to lay low with how diligently he seemed to be attending classes. But then again, maybe he just got his kicks out of stirring shit up like this. After all, while the rumors had been flying about him since the day he arrived, no one's really sure what got him his criminal record in the first place.

The third student of the trio, though, was someone you had never expected.

Yuuki Mishima.

You remember seeing the scrawny, quiet boy leaving school later than the rest of his team more than once when your duties as vice-captain required you to stay past practice. The first few times you saw him, he had a determined spark in his eyes despite the obvious new injuries that marked him as Kamoshida's favorite punching bag. However, as the weeks turned into months, you watched his gait turn into a dejected shuffle and his eyes dull with acceptance.

Had someone like that really stood up to Kamoshida?

At first, you couldn't bring yourself to believe it. It would take real balls to stand up to him and every time you tried to picture it, all you could think of was Mishima's slumped posture and void eyes. There was no way someone whose spirit had been crushed so effectively could fight back against that.

However, as the rumor mill continued to hum, all you heard was confirmation that he was indeed the third student. Even though its been a week and a half since Kamoshida's confession, you're not quite sure you've managed to wrap your head around it yet. It just seemed like too much of an impossibility.

Did Mishima have more guts than you gave him credit for?

\- TWEEEEEEET -

The shrill sound of a whistle manages to pull your from your thoughts as your eyes return to the teacher. You watch as other students begin breaking off into their designated pairs and you click your tongue. Shit, you completely missed the name of who you're supposed to be paired up with. As you stand up, you resign yourself to having to stand here like an idiot until your partner finds you.

A gentle tap on your shoulder a few seconds later signals that thankfully your wait will be mercifully short. Quickly, you bury your hyper-competitive basketball mentality so you can spare whatever poor non-athlete you've been paired up with.

Only to turn around and find Yuuki Mishima looking at you, basketball in hand and uncertain smile on his face.

Wasn't there some saying about speaking of the devil?

“I think we're partnered up,” he offers as way of introduction.

“Oh, yeah,” you respond lamely as you shake off your initial surprise and begin to study him. This is your first time seeing him since Kamoshida's confession and he looks like a completely different person. The spark that you had seen in his eyes is not only back, but seems stronger than ever before. It's such a stark contrast that you're not quite sure what to think at first.

“Uhm...” he finally says after you've been mutely starring at him for an uncomfortably long time, “Should we...get started?”

“Yeah, sure,” you respond dumbly. He answers with another uncertain smile before moving to a fair distance so you can practice your passing.

As the bounce pass drill begins, you let muscle memory take over and you're pleased to find that Mishima's able to match you easily enough. Without having to worry about concentrating too deeply on what you're actually doing, your mind begins to try desperately to reconcile the Mishima that you remember with the person in front of you right now. You assumed his spirit had been entirely crushed and you were sure that even getting rid of Kamoshida wouldn't allow him to recover.

But something had brought him back; something had brought back what Kamoshida had strove to kill and made it even stronger than before.

Maybe he really was brave enough to stand up to Kamoshida.

The teacher's whistle signals the change from bounce passes to chest passes. You're the one holding the ball, so you match the speed you had been throwing your earlier passes since you know Mishima can handle them.

The flinch that Mishima gives as the ball flies at him is nearly a full bodied one and he fumbles the ball. You watch as he stands stock still for a solid two seconds, his posture stiff and unnatural, before he seems to collect himself.

“Sorry,” he apologizes with what's obviously a forced laugh before running off to get the ball that's rolled away. He returns shortly, his smile sheepish and self-deprecating, “It must suck to be paired with someone who's not on the basketball team.”

“No, it's fine,” you respond automatically, having heard this more than once, “I'm used to it. This teacher always sets pairs like this.”

He nods but it doesn't seem to really allay whatever it is that's bothering him. Silently, he passes the ball back to you. This time when you pass back, you take extra care to make sure it's a slow pass, something that's as easy to catch as possible.

Another flinch, another fumble, another apology.

This carries on for a few more passes, Mishima's flinches growing more violent and pronounced with each one. By about the fifth pass you can sense his growing frustrations, which only spurs your own. As he runs off to collect another runaway ball, you can hear him muttering under his breath, the words are lost on you but the agitation and anger is clear.

“Mishima,” you say as he returns. The sound of his name makes him visibly jump and for a moment, you're looking at the broken spirit that Kamoshida had worked so mercilessly to craft.

“Let's take a break for a sec.”

“Huh?” he asks incredulously, his eyes snapping back into focus and finding your face, “N-No, I'm okay! I can keep going! I won't mess it up this time!"

“Probably, but I banged my wrist pretty bad in our last match,” you lie effortlessly, “Coach told me to take it easy, so that's exactly what I'm gonna do.”

Without waiting for a response, you head over to the wall and take a seat. Mishima hesitates for only a second, glancing at the teacher who's caught up in correcting another pair's form, before coming to join you. As he sits beside you, he begins to nervously pass the basketball from hand to hand.

“I'm sorry,” he apologizes after an overly pregnant pause, “It must really suck to be paired up with someone like me.”

Although it's similar to what he said earlier, you pick up on the shift of focus. It's not that you're paired up with someone who's unfamiliar with basketball – it's that you're paired up with him.

“I already said it's okay,” you reply, irritation seeping into your voice despite your best efforts, “You're not a member of the basketball team, so I wasn't expecting much from you.”

As soon as the words are out of your mouth, you can feel the shift in the atmosphere and you want to punch yourself. You had been trying to make him feel better, but you can already tell this is going to have the exact opposite effect. Your friends were always teasing you for how the filter between your mouth and your thoughts failed you at the most critical moments.

“Shit,” you swear under your breath as you turn to him, “Sorry, that came out the wrong way.”

“No, it's fine. You're right.”

His voice is oddly steady as he stares at seemingly nothing, his expression eerily vacant. He's stopped passing the ball back and forth between his hands and now holds it in a death grip, his knuckles turning white.

“I wasn't even that great at volleyball,” he continues, “so of course I'm not going to be any better at basketball. Kamoshida said he only kept me around as a convenient tool. It makes sense that I can't even do something as simple as passing right. It's fine.”

The self-deprecating chuckle at the end of his statement makes it exceedingly difficult to bite back the desire to tell him there's no way in hell he's going to improve with a mindset like that. As you struggle to keep your filter in working order, the two of you lapse into silence once more, the general scuffling of the other students serving as a buffer between the two of you.

You're not sure what to say or how to say it.

You're certainly not what anyone would call friends with Mishima. The extent of your knowledge of him goes as far as the rumor mill and those times you saw him leaving school after Kamoshida was done with him. You have no idea how to make him feel better or even if you, or anyone else for that matter, can. You're strangers and you both have no obligations to one another.

There's nothing between you and he likely sees you as a no one.

But as you look over at him and see the Mishima you remember – broken, scared, scarred – you decide that if there's any time to let the filter drop and just say what's on your mind, it's now.

“Y'know, you were brave.”

“H-Huh?”

“For standing up to Kamoshida. We all knew what was going on. We pretended it wasn't happening and let you guys suffer through all of that just to save our own skins. We could've said something about it, but we didn't. You did. That was brave.”

Silence falls again as Mishima stares at the ball still gripped in his hands. You try to gauge his reaction and how hard you might have to backpedal based on his expression, but his face is a blank mask.

“You're wrong,” he replies in a quiet tone as expressionless as his face, “I'm not brave. The only reason I said anything was because Sakamoto and Kurusu were there. I was backed into a corner. I had no choice.”

“You totally had a choice,” You continue to press, your own agitation driving your words. Why was this not sinking in for him? “You could've run away with your tail between your legs and left the other two to take the fall for you. But you didn't. You fucking stood your ground and said something. No one was forcing you to do it. Give yourself credit for that.”

“...What the hell do you know? You weren't there.”

His voice is a quiet hiss, his expression still blank. The color has drained from his face and his breathing seems to be picking up.

“You're right, I wasn't. I don't know a lot of what happened. But what I do know is that you did something the rest of us were too chickenshit to do. If that's not bravery, then I don't know what the hell is.”

“What the hell do you know!?”

At the sound of Mishima's yelling, all activity in the gym stops. He stands now, his expression finally shifting to what appears to be anger, as he glares down at you. The force of his outburst and the directionless loathing that radiates off of him in waves leaves you too stunned to come up with a response.

“I should've done something sooner! I should've been brave _sooner_!” He shouts, his voice high and strained, betraying the tears he's so obviously fighting back, “If I had, then Suzui-!”

The name catches in his throat and you watch as his face instantly crumples, his body beginning to shake violently as he sobs incoherently. All you can do is stare blankly as you watch him have a complete breakdown. Your brain searches desperately for something to say to help, but you're just as lost as the rest of the class that watches on in silence.

Suddenly, the teacher seems to remember his position and he's rushing over to Mishima's side. He tries to coax him into speaking to him, telling him what the problem is, but all he can do is shake his head as the crying fit continues. Obviously in a panic, the teacher begins to look about frantically for some way to deal with a crying student and in the end, his eyes end up falling on you.

“I don't know what happened,” he says as his glare bores into you, “but you are going to take Mishima-kun to the nurse's office this instant, is that clear?”

You nod and stand up from the floor, feeling suddenly self-conscious of the many pairs of eyes that track your every movement. As a force of habit, you hook Mishima's arm around your shoulder even though his injury isn't a physical one. The thought crosses your mind that he might not want anything to do with you after you just made him cry, but he doesn't push you away, instead seeming to lean into the support even as he continues to sob. As the two of you head for the gym door, the teacher remembers his position and gives a shrill blow of the whistle, demanding that everyone return to their drills.

You know just as well as everyone else that no one's seriously going to be thinking about basketball after seeing a display like that.

It's in the middle of class, so the hallways are thankfully empty as you make your way to the nurse's office. You can feel Mishima's body shake against yours each time a sob escapes him. Each time you feel a sharp stab of guilt to accompany it. You had thought telling him he was being brave would be a good thing, maybe help give him some confidence or something. This was certainly not in the realm of what you thought was going to happen.

Just how deep did Mishima's scars run?

“W-Wait.”

The hoarse sound of Mishima's voice at your side causes you to turn to him. His face is marred with still wet tears and snot, his eyes red and watery, but for the time it seems that he's gained some control of himself. You stop moving and wait for him to find his voice again.

“I don't want to go to the nurse's office. I've...spent enough time in there.”

The way he says it, like it's no big deal, makes your stomach twist.

“...I really don't know anything, do I.”

Your words hang heavy in the air as you feel his body tense against yours. You can't help but wonder what's running through his head, but you honestly don't have the slightest clue.

Because you're strangers, because you don't know the first thing about him and what he's gone through.

“...You don't,” He answers eventually, “But it's...probably better that way. I wouldn't want anyone to go through the same things I did.”

The words sting a bit, but you can't really argue with him. You had told yourself that as a member of one of the sports teams, you understood what Kamoshida was doing; you heard the punishments and saw the fallout, which was enough to understand what the volleyball team – what Mishima – was going through. However, that blank, glassy-eyed stare, the directionless anger, the tears; you understand so little.

“I was serious when I said you were brave.”

The sharp intake of breath at your side has you worried that he's going to start crying again, so in a rush you continue.

“You're right, I didn't understand anything; I still don't understand anything. But that doesn't change the fact that you were brave. If I knew everything that happened, I bet I would just think that even more.”

Somehow, the silence in your conversations is becoming a familiar staple already. The weight of Mishima leaning against you feels more oppressive as the seconds pass. Mentally, you prepare yourself to rush to the nurse's office despite his protests if he has another outburst so he can cry without curious stares burning into him.

“Thank you...”

His voice is so quiet that for a moment you're sure you've misheard or are just imagining the answer you want to hear. However, as you look over at him, you find that he's crying again, only this time there's a slight smile on his lips. You wait as he continues to cry silently, your thoughts running in circles in your head. This whole exchange has probably taken only a half-hour at most, but it feels like something inexplicable has shifted.

Thank you, huh?

“Would talking about it help?”

You're not sure where you're going with this, but there's really no choice but to push forward now.

“...I'm not sure, honestly. I've spent so long trying to not even think about it.”

“Then second question: how do you feel about skipping classes?”

You really didn't understand anything.

“Right about now that doesn't sound too bad.”

“The roof's locked, but there's that little storage space in front of it. No one ever goes up there. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want, but it's probably a great place to hide away for a period or two.”

But that doesn't mean you can't help.

“Only if I can keep borrowing your shoulder on the way up there. Crying like this takes a lot more out of you than I remember.”

“Of course.”

Because all friendships start from nothing and all friends start as no one.

**Author's Note:**

> If Atlus won't give Mishima the friends he deserves, I will write them into existence.


End file.
